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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661255">trade my heart for honey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_scarlet/pseuds/ms_scarlet'>ms_scarlet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Girls (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(kind of but maybe not as much as they'd like it to be), A smidgeon of angst to spice things up, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hate Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool As Foreplay, Pool Table Sex, Scheming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:41:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_scarlet/pseuds/ms_scarlet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"And with this new deal, I can pay that off ahead of schedule," she says, forcing her voice to be perky and bright.</p><p>"Can." Rio says it flat, but the corner of his mouth curves up, and he folds his hands around his cue, leaning forward slightly. "Not have."</p><p>"Will," Beth insists. "Soon."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm still not seeing why we havin' this conversation right now."</p><p>Instead of answering, Beth yanks on the zipper, ripping open the duffle bag exposing the neat packets of cash stuffed inside, then stepping back and gesturing to it like a game show host.</p><p>That faint curve curls and stretches, a full smile spreading across his face. It's sly and amused, satisfied in the way he usually is when presented with a pile of money, but there's something else in it too, something heated and vaguely threatening that makes Beth's stomach flutter in response.</p><p>"A'ight, tell you what. You wanna have this conversation so bad?" Rio gestures at the table with his cue. "Play you for it."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Boland/Rio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>trade my heart for honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Italiano available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30653933">trade my heart for honey</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/montespan/pseuds/montespan">montespan</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/21aZV2eL6Ek25yS5ISKD05?si=Iz7Zfv3cQA2MyqsJz9By4g">Honey by CUTTS</a></p><p>More credits at the end</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The <em>clack clack clack </em>of pool balls scattering is the first thing Beth hears when she shoves open the door of the bar, relieved to find it still unlocked.</p><p>Inside, the lights are all off except for the pool table annex in the back. The warm glow spills out, casting long shadows with the spindly legs of the stools flipped over onto the high-top tables scattered throughout the main bar.</p><p>Beth smiles to herself. She'd tried to balance her arrival on the hair-thin line between late enough that the bar would've emptied out but not so late that it'd be locked up tight. It seems like she's perfectly hit her mark.</p><p><em>Good, </em>she thinks. She has a better shot at this without an audience.</p><p>Well, besides Mick, anyway. The likelihood of seeing Rio entirely alone these days is minimal. It still happens, but it's a rare occurrence—so rare she can probably count on one hand the number of times it’s happened since those early days after he first came back. </p><p>There's a part of Beth that likes it, the idea that Rio takes her seriously enough to want someone watching his back when he's with her. But there's another part she still sometimes catches wistfully remembering sunny afternoons in her backyard, barefoot and relaxed. The part that still foolishly daydreams of the possibilities of both. The part that wants—</p><p>Shaking it off, Beth summons the effervescent feeling of victory that drove her here in the first place. The memory puts an extra spring in her step as she strides towards the back, the crisp <em>click </em>of her heels echoing in the emptiness of the main bar. The black duffle clutched in her hand bounces off her bare knee.</p><p>She knows Rio has to know she's there, knows there’s no way he isn’t somehow keeping tabs on an unlocked door. But no one greets her, not until she steps past the half wall separating the pool table from the bar proper.</p><p>Mick's in the corner, feet planted broad and steady like he's standing guard, leaning his weight forward on his pool cue. When Beth enters, he flicks his gaze to her, nodding once before turning his attention back to the table. Beth rolls her eyes, equal parts at the dismissal—no doubt intended to get under her skin—and the way Rio ignores her arrival entirely.</p><p>She does her best to smother the wave of impatient, anticipatory static that prickles along her nerves.</p><p>He only wins if he knows she’s bothered. </p><p>Dropping her purse on the ledge that runs around the room—just wide enough for a few drinks and a plate of nachos, but narrow enough to not get in the way of a game—Beth pulls out one of the stools tucked underneath and settles in to wait, the duffle bag resting at her feet.</p><p>Rio takes a shot, neatly pocketing a solid with a follow-through so controlled, Beth's breath catches in her throat. Smothering that too, she sweeps her gaze over the table, studying it with an experienced eye. More stripes than solids dot the surface, and Rio's stop shot left the cue ball right at the point of impact, too precise to be anything other than intentional. </p><p>For a split second, she's back in the basement of the house she grew up in, the faint smell of must and mildew thick in her nose mingling with the spicy scent of men's cologne. She shakes it off.</p><p>Rio's good. Beth already knew it from the number of times he’s made her watch him play while he’s kept her waiting. Not as good as he probably thinks he is, but still good. </p><p>Moving at a languid pace that has Beth gritting her teeth, he lines up and makes his remaining shots. Respect for the game's the only reason Beth waits until the eight ball disappears into the corner pocket—on a long-range bank shot she <em>knows </em>he only took to show off, he had at <em>least </em>two easier angles—before she stands and drops the duffle onto the table with a weighty thud. </p><p>Now Rio looks at her, his eyebrow arching as he straightens up, his tongue tucked into his cheek, making the shadows lying softly against his skin shift. </p><p>"Not due 'til next week."</p><p>Beth tips her chin up and shakes her hair back, her smile pointy and proud. "I closed the Aparium deal."</p><p>She sees it then, a split-second flash across his face. He's impressed, and something warm bursts inside of her in response. </p><p>She's been working on this since nearly the moment she—well, they, or very technically, Dean, she supposes—opened the doors of Boland Bubbles. The Aparium Group runs a chain of boutique luxury hotels around the country with headquarters in Chicago. Beth came across them while doing some research for bulk sales targets—bulk buys being preferable from a business operations standpoint and because the bigger the deal, the bigger the margins, and the more wiggle room she has to fudge the numbers and wash her cash. </p><p>But it still grates, jagged and bitter, remembering how Dean laughed when he realized what she was doing. <em>Bethie, </em>he'd said, shaking his head, wearing that stupid, patronizing smile he puts on whenever she gets too involved in anything having to do with what he thinks is <em>his </em>business. <em>We're creating experiences, not hunting down leads like some kind of—of </em>mercenaries<em>. You leave this to me. </em></p><p>Beth may not have Dean's years of sales experience, but she's not an idiot. Lead generation is <em>obviously </em>a vital part of the sales pipeline. Opportunities don't just <em>materialize.</em> But how would Dean know that? He's never built <em>anything </em>from the ground up.</p><p>So, Beth put in the work and four months, countless conference calls, and five day trips to Chicago later—and hadn't that felt good? Strutting through the city, taking business lunches in trendy restaurants overlooking the lake or the river—she closed the deal. She was so excited, so ready to crow about her victory, she immediately went to the safe she had installed in the back of the warehouse, the one Dean doesn't—and will never—have the combination to and packed a duffle full of clean cash. </p><p>"Next week's drop, paid in full," Beth says, watching Rio closely. "Plus interest."</p><p>There's that flash again, this time hotter, <em>pleased </em>in a way that hits her bloodstream like a full glass of wine, making her head spin and warming her inside and out. </p><p>"Sure you wanna hedge your bets like that?" he drawls, his expression mild and faintly amused again, but it doesn't matter; she'd seen it, she <em>knows. </em>"'S not like your dumbass husband ain't already tryin’ to run one of my businesses into the ground."</p><p><em>"My </em>business," Beth snaps before she can stop herself. </p><p>Rio laughs softly like he won something, and Beth silently curses herself for taking the bait. </p><p>
  <em>Focus. </em>
</p><p>Beth straightens her shoulders and smooths her dress out, biting back a smirk at the way his eyes follow the motion of her hands. She looks good, and she knows it. Her midnight blue wrap dress is splashed with blush and cream flowers—not hibiscus, but something spiky and exotic to coordinate with the showroom’s Hawaiian theme—and a neckline that plunges lower than business appropriate. During the day, she tempers it with a camisole, but she'd carefully folded that into her purse when she made a pit stop in the bathroom to fluff her hair and fix her eyeliner before heading to the bar. </p><p>It wasn’t—she only did it because she's never been one to waste a tool in her arsenal, not because it <em>means </em>anything.</p><p>But still, inevitably, once she's here with him, his attention resting heavily on her, she can't pretend there isn't a part of her that pulses and blooms under the weight of it.</p><p>She just ignores it, is all.</p><p>"I want to renegotiate," she says, and he groans, throwing his head back, the tendons in his throat catching the light, highlighting the black ink etched across them. </p><p>"How many times we gotta go over this, ma?" Rio says, his dark eyes fixing on her, and she hates—<em>hates—</em>when he looks at her like she's the only thing that exists. Hates the way it makes her heart beat faster. "You still owe <em>me, </em>remember?"</p><p>Beth scowls. How could she ever forget the Fitzpatrick debacle? Just the reminder is enough for a blush to flare hot and furious across her face. God, she'd been so stupid, so sure that she was being careful, <em>slick, </em>and he'd—</p><p>It doesn't matter. It's over. Done and put to bed, lessons learned all around. </p><p>"And with this new deal, I can pay that off ahead of schedule," she says, forcing her voice to be perky and bright.</p><p>"Can." Rio says it flat, but the corner of his mouth curves up, and he folds his hands around his cue, leaning forward slightly. "Not have."</p><p>"Will," Beth insists. "Soon."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm still not seeing why we havin' this conversation right now."</p><p>Instead of answering, Beth yanks on the zipper, ripping open the duffle bag exposing the neat packets of cash stuffed inside, then stepping back and gesturing to it like a game show host.</p><p>That faint curve curls and stretches, a full smile spreading across his face. It's sly and amused, satisfied in the way he usually is when presented with a pile of money, but there's something else in it too, something heated and vaguely threatening that makes Beth's stomach flutter in response.</p><p>"A'ight, tell you what. You wanna have this conversation so bad?" Rio gestures at the table with his cue. "Play you for it."</p><p>"My thirty percent?" Beth says, her pulse spiking, tamping down <em>hard </em>on any visible reaction. She's been pushing and pushing for so long, she can't totally believe he'd make it this <em>easy </em>for her.</p><p>But of course, he isn't.</p><p>"Nah," he says, laughing and shaking his head. "Play for the conversation."</p><p>Right. Beth looks from him to the table, rocking her jaw as she thinks, visions of four years spent in college bars dancing through her mind's eye. She'd spent hours waiting for Dean to show after classes—always mysteriously late, usually rumpled, sometimes smelling floral and feminine; puzzle pieces she'd chosen to never put together—hustling frat boys at pool to pass the time. She never kept any of the money, always gave it straight to Annie for formula and diapers and later, pediatrician co-pays and new shoes. </p><p>It'd been fun, though. It still makes Beth laugh, the way they'd get so <em>mad </em>when she'd beat them. When she'd put all those years in the basement learning to control the table, mastering massé and sidespin, draw shots and forced follows, all at the knee of her—when she put everything she’d learned to use.</p><p>Beth swallows, the worn green felt blurring, and she blinks, curling her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms.</p><p>The point is, she can beat him. She <em>will </em>beat him, she just needs to play this right. </p><p>"What do you say, sweetheart?" Rio asks; the patronization thick in his voice digs Beth's nails in a little deeper. "You did real good today. How ‘bout I give you a handicap. Sound fair?"</p><p>"I don't need a handicap," she snaps before she can stop herself, shaking her head to clear the lingering scent memory of dampness and Old Spice, and he grins wide. </p><p>“So, you in then?”</p><p>Mick coughs, and Beth jerks. She'd completely forgotten he was still there, standing silently in the corner. </p><p>Rio drags his eyes away from Beth, shifting his focus to Mick with a measured caution that makes her wonder if he’d forgotten about him too. </p><p>"Bueno, me voy," Mick says to Rio. </p><p>Beth doesn't know what it means, but his tone is as dry as the desert, and Rio nods. They do that handshake she’s seen countless times now, so loose and practiced it's clearly second nature.</p><p>Mick leans his cue up against the ledge, tipping his chin at Beth before heading towards the back door, pausing on the threshold to look back at Rio.</p><p>"No seas pendejo," he says, heavy with meaning.</p><p>Rio makes an unimpressed noise, pursing his lips and waving him off. He turns his attention back to Beth as the door swings shut, sealing the two of them inside. Alone. Watching each other with the careful focus of two predators sizing up their prey.</p><p>It suddenly occurs to Beth how quiet it is. They must've shut the music off when they closed down the bar because nothing plays over the speakers, not even static. The spring night's warm enough that the building's heat is off, but cool enough that the air conditioning isn't on yet, so there's no forced air to break up the silence. She can hear the faintest hint of traffic from out front, but it's muffled by the brick and glass blocks and empty room in between. </p><p>Beth wonders if Rio can hear the way her tongue sticks a little when she licks her lips.</p><p>"Scared you'll lose, Elizabeth?" </p><p>It's instant, the heat that sparks and lights up her nerve endings like a circuit board. It's the victory, is all. The fact of it so close she can almost taste it.</p><p>"You still haven't told me what you're playing for, <em>Christopher." </em></p><p>His expression doesn't change, but she sees a barely perceptible movement in his shoulders like he's fighting the urge to shift his weight or roll them back. He masks it by making a show of jutting his jaw forward, trailing his eyes over her. His gaze is heavy, palpable, like honey drizzling over the top of her head, down her shoulders, and between her breasts, pooling low. </p><p>Then he smiles wide, the skin around his eyes crinkling in that way that makes something inside Beth flutter then ache with the knowledge that she's only ever seen it when he wields it like a weapon. </p><p>It makes him look young. Happy. It makes Beth wonder who he is outside of everything between them.</p><p>"Your ottoman."</p><p>"What?" Beth blinks. She missed something.</p><p>"You asked what I want," Rio says, with a lazy shrug, refolding his long fingers around the cue. </p><p>"You want...my ottoman?"</p><p>He raises his eyebrows at her like he can't believe she really needs him to repeat himself, and it's just—he's so—</p><p>The laugh that bursts out of her is high and bright. More genuine than either of them expected, judging from the way his other eyebrow joins the first for a brief second before he's laughing along with her. She wonders if he's thinking of the same thing. Of that night at the bar back when she'd worn that dress—the one Dean still brings up from time to time. Of how even when things had still been really bad between them, she'd made that joke, and he'd laughed, and for a fleeting moment, she thought maybe they really could fix things before remembering all the ways they couldn't.</p><p>Except she'd been wrong, hadn't she? They figured out a way to fix things. Well, relatively. Not perfectly, but better—enough that she's here, and he's about to bump her pay to thirty percent even if he doesn't know it yet.</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>When she says it, he grins at her, sharkish and toothy, and <em>oh, </em>Beth thinks. <em>This is going to be </em>fun<em>. </em></p><p>Leaving the bag of cash on the table for Rio to deal with, Beth picks up Mick's abandoned cue, trying to gauge how it's weighted without being obvious about what she's doing. </p><p>Bottom heavy. She figured. Someone his height would play better with something more evenly balanced.</p><p>Beth moves to the rack bolted to the wall, sliding the cue into one of the empty spots. She runs her fingers lightly along the rest before selecting the slightly shorter one at the end of the row. She pulls it down, checking the ferrule for cracks and running a thumb across the tip to assess whether it's too worn down to chalk properly.</p><p>When she turns around, cue in hand, Rio's watching her, eyes dark and lip curled into a half-smile that Beth feels reverberate in her veins. The feeling intensifies when she rolls the cue along the table, keeping an eye on how much it wobbles, and he cocks his head, sucking his lower lip into his mouth.</p><p>"What?" she asks, snatching the stick back up, satisfied she can work with it. "I played a little in college."</p><p>Beth falters, a familiar, prickly embarrassment she's never been able to entirely get past rolling over her. "Well, not—I didn't—when I was that age."</p><p>He nods, bending to grab the rack, and Beth hates the part of her that softens and warms in gratitude when he lets her fumble slide.</p><p>When Rio stands back up, he sets the rack on the table and starts to fill it, and she frowns.</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>Rio pops an eyebrow at her. "Thought you said you played a little."</p><p>"No, I mean—" Beth waves a hand like she's clearing away the faintly mocking tone and gesturing at the table. "You won the last game. That makes it your break, right?"</p><p>She lets a hint of uncertainty creep into the very end of the question, smiling inwardly when he straightens up, brightening at the opportunity to teach her something. </p><p>"That don't carry over unless you the kind of chump that needs the edge." He pauses, his smile going sly, and she braces herself for whatever's coming next. "'Sides, since it's your big day and all, figured I could be nice. Give you the advantage."</p><p>"I don't need it," Beth snaps, then makes a show of catching herself, reining herself back in. "But thank you."</p><p>He laughs at how she says the last part, perky and breathless, before dropping the eight ball into the center of the formation. Beth chalks her cue, watching as Rio rolls the balls back and forth, making sure they're tightly packed. When he removes the rack, none of them move so much as a hair, and he steps back, nodding to Beth that the table is hers. </p><p>Beth centers the cue ball at the other end of the table, making a few minute adjustments to its placement like she thinks the most important thing is ensuring it's dead-on. </p><p>When she takes her break shot, she puts a little more force than she normally would into her follow-through. Enough that the impact's a hair off from where she'd want it to be, but not enough that the shot goes entirely wild. The cue ball connects with a sharp <em>crack </em>as she stands, holding her breath and watching the balls scatter. </p><p>It's a decent break. Beth sinks two solids and a stripe, and when the balls still, she hasn't left anything clumped together or shut herself out of any part of the table. </p><p>"Solids," she announces, then smiles sweetly. "You're welcome for the assist."</p><p>"Thanks, darlin'." </p><p>Rio's leaned back against the ledge, his arms crossed and cue propped against his side. The angle of the light from the lamp hanging over the table is just low enough that his face is in shadow, but she can hear the amusement in his drawl. </p><p>She misses her next shot on purpose, hissing loudly when the two ball glances off the edge of the pocket to cover up the way she leaves the seven blocking off a corner. Rio eyes her suspiciously, and Beth pretends not to notice—both his look and the way it warms her blood. Thrilled that he takes her seriously as a threat, even when she's pretending not to be. </p><p>Maybe <em>especially </em>when she's pretending not to be. </p><p>Fighting a shiver, Beth grabs the chalk and backs up, giving Rio room to work. </p><p>He takes a minute to study the lie. While he calculates, he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves seemingly on autopilot, the tendons in his hands and forearms flexing as he goes through the motions. When he’s ready, he grabs his stick and drapes himself over the table, the long elegant line of his body making Beth's tongue feel thick and her palms go damp. </p><p>She swallows hard when he takes his shot, effortlessly sinking the nine ball, and it isn't until he gracefully pockets the eleven—with a rail shot so precise, Beth's sharp inhale is audible even over the impact of the balls—that she realizes she's standing stock still, staring.</p><p>He looks up at her, eyes dancing. "See somethin' you like, sweetheart?" </p><p>Beth snaps her mouth shut, tightening her grip on the chalk. And okay, maybe when he lines up his next shot, she makes a point to stay in his line of sight as she chalks her cue. And maybe she's a little more theatrical about it than she needs to be, twisting her wrist and sliding her hand up and down the stick, just barely.</p><p>Maybe she waits until he starts to take his shot to blow the excess chalk off the tip of the cue, hollowing her cheeks a touch more than is actually necessary.</p><p>She doesn't bother hiding her grin when he misses.</p><p>Rio laughs softly as he straightens back up. Beth doesn't know how to feel about the thread of triumph woven through it and braces herself for some sort of snide comment, but he watches silently instead as she studies the lay of the balls, assessing her next move. He comes around to her side of the table when she lines up but stays politely still, several feet away, while she sends the three ball careening off the rail into the side pocket—admittedly with a little more force than she intended.</p><p>It isn't until she's drawing back on a straight shot between the four and the corner that he moves, sliding closer and leaning over her bent back to grab the chalk on the other side of her. </p><p>"Oh, my bad," he says when Beth freezes, his ambient heat sweeping up and down her spine. She swears she can somehow <em>hear </em>his pout, knows his lip's jutting out, hanging heavy and probably catching the light. "Didn't mean to distract you."</p><p>He straightens up, and so what if she misses her shot? She <em>should. </em>The first game's always a show, just competitive enough to make it seem like she's trying, enough to give him what he thinks is an accurate idea of her skills. The second's where she really starts to play. </p><p>"You didn't," Beth says, tossing her hair like the ball didn't hit the rail a good three inches from where she was aiming.</p><p>Rio doesn't move, and when she finally looks at him, he's grinning like a cat that's spied a canary in reach and is only waiting for the right moment to pounce. </p><p>Something in the air shifts and the room feels heavier, warmer. Beth suddenly wishes for summer, for the air conditioning to kick on and offer some relief.</p><p>"Sure 'bout that?" Rio asks, his voice a slow, deep rumble that rolls over Beth like a tangible caress. </p><p>She sets her jaw and crosses her arms, her lips quirking when his gaze drops to her chest. He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, and Beth swallows but makes sure to keep her face blank when his eyes come back to hers. </p><p>He doesn't say anything more until after he makes his next shot and stands back, a pleased smile spreading across his face as he studies the table. To be fair, aside from the pocket Beth closed off, he's got a lot to work with.</p><p>"Why don't you take a seat and watch," Rio suggests, gesturing his stick at one of the stools. </p><p>"Watch what?" Beth asks, playing along even though she knows whatever's about to come next is going to piss her off. </p><p><em>Let him have this one, </em>she reminds herself. <em>The higher he sets himself up, the further he'll fall. </em></p><p>"I know you always lookin' for opportunities to be the boss, yeah?" Beth grits her teeth, and his smile grows. "I'mma show you how it's done."</p><p>It's the smugness that sets her off. They're three to four; Rio's <em>barely </em>ahead. Sure, she intends to lose, and okay, the table she’s left him with is a gift, but there's no reason for him to be <em>that </em>cocky. </p><p>There's no reason for it to get under her skin, zipping through her like an electric current either. </p><p>It’s going to feel <em>so </em>good when she makes him eat his words. </p><p>Regardless, letting his over-the-top certainty slide would be a dead giveaway Beth's up to something. So, while he takes his stance, she skirts around the table and hops up on a barstool directly in his line of sight. She waits until he's in the middle of his backswing to cross her legs, letting her dress ride up and spreading them a little more than necessary as she does.</p><p>Rio misses.</p><p>Beth can't help the laugh that spills out of her, echoing off the walls and bouncing around them. A bolt of heat spikes through her when he stands up, his face like thunder.</p><p>"So, that's how it's done?" she asks, innocent confusion thick in her question. When she hops off the stool, sheer delight puts an extra bounce in the movement.</p><p>Rio’s scowl melts into something predatory and full of teeth, and something deep inside Beth kindles in response.</p><p>"We playin' like that, huh?"</p><p>"What do you mean?" Beth asks, widening her eyes and blinking at him, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head warning her she's playing with fire. </p><p>Rio snorts, rocking his jaw, but doesn't say anything else while Beth lines up and sinks her shot. It isn't until she comes around to his side of the table and bends over that she sees him move out of the corner of her eye. She freezes, waiting to see what he'll do, anticipation prickling along the back of her neck. </p><p>Beth knew he'd escalate, there's no way he wouldn't after that, but she still jumps a little when he comes up behind her, close enough that she just barely feels his hips brush against her ass. </p><p>He pauses, but when she doesn't pull away, he leans over, running a firm hand up her spine, hot and heavy through the thin fabric of her dress, pushing her down on the table a little more. </p><p>"You gotta watch your form, mami," he says, his voice a deep rumble right in her ear, and she curses silently to herself, knowing there's no way he misses the way she shivers. Not when he's this close. Not when he's touching her like this.</p><p>With one hand still splayed across her back, holding her down, he wraps the other around her elbow, adjusting her balance. When his pinky finger slips under the edge of her three-quarter sleeve, she knows he must see the goosebumps that erupt down her forearm. </p><p>Still, she's not the only one...<em>responding </em>to the circumstances. When Rio leans in more, pressing his hips lightly, so lightly, into her, she can just feel him starting to harden. </p><p>Then he's gone, and Beth shudders, this time at the abrupt loss of his heat. </p><p>"Your move."</p><p>Beth swallows, taking a deep breath, and if it's a little shaky, it's only because she's on the cusp of something she's been fantasizing about for months. </p><p>Her thirty percent, obviously.</p><p>When she takes her shot, she misses, which is fine. She meant to. What she didn't mean to do was send the six careening into the seven she'd left blocking the corner, knocking it out of the way, and leaving the pocket clear. </p><p>
  <em>Never get too carried away in the game that you forget what you're doing—eyes on the prize, Lizzie.</em>
</p><p>Rio makes a soft, satisfied noise from behind her. </p><p>Beth ignores him, stepping back from the table, and leans against the ledge, struggling to slow her racing pulse through force of will alone. She watches him like a hawk—assessing his form, the angles he chooses—but doesn't say anything as he makes his next shot, and after he sinks the one after that without any commentary or a move from her, he stands up and looks over.</p><p>"See, what you gotta understand is half the game's about who controls the table," he says, cocking his head as he watches for a reaction. </p><p>Beth bites back the <em>I know </em>that springs to life on the tip of her tongue, setting her jaw as a challenge lights up his eyes.</p><p>"'S okay, baby," Rio says, a nasty smile curling his lip and Beth's pulse trips. "We both know control's never been your strong suit."</p><p>When she still doesn't say anything, his eyes narrow. He watches her for a minute, but when it becomes apparent she isn't giving him any kind of a reaction, his lips thin, and he bends over the table, pocketing the last striped ball without fanfare. Rio pauses to chalk his cue, darting a glance over at her, but when he sees she still isn't reacting, his nose flares and he takes his stance, tipping his cue towards a side pocket and sinking the eight ball.</p><p>Beth's braced, expecting him to rub her face in his victory, but he only nods at her.</p><p>"Mick'll swing by and pick up the ottoman tomorrow," he says, turning towards the rack on the wall, his tone mild and pleasant. Empty of any of the heat from only a few moments ago. "2 pm good for you?"</p><p>
  <em>"Wait!" </em>
</p><p>Beth doesn't know if it's the rest of her plan slipping through her fingers or the blatant dismissal in the line of his back, but her protest comes out several degrees more desperate than she meant it to. She flushes as he turns back to her, polite but distant curiosity written in the arch of his eyebrow. </p><p>"Let me try again."</p><p>"Yeah, not really seein' what's left in it for me?" Rio frowns, his smooth mask breaking enough to mock her with his exaggerated confusion. "I won darlin', or did you miss that while you were over there poutin' in the corner?"</p><p>Beth rolls her eyes, and his expression warms a fraction.</p><p>"'Sides, ain't it a li’l late for you to be out tryin' to hustle? Who’s watchin’ them kids you're always tellin' me about?"</p><p>"Dean's at home."</p><p>Something flickers across his face and maybe once upon a time she would've hesitated over how to read it. But she’s known him long enough to see his reaction for what it is: he’s <em>annoyed.</em></p><p>"What?" she asks, latching on to the opportunity. He's always been his most impulsive when he's worked up. "Did you forget I have a husband?"</p><p>Beth is so focused on her goal, it isn't until the words leave her mouth, crashing between them like a brick lobbed through a glass window, that she realizes this is the closest she's ever come to directly acknowledging any of the...anything between them. </p><p>Beth freezes, torn between a desperate wish to take it back and a weird sort of relief to have it out there. But it doesn't matter what she wishes; she said it, and he heard it. There's a barely perceptible change in his demeanor, but she sees it in the way his eyes widen a flash before they narrow. The cat’s caught his canary.</p><p>It’s good—preferable, even—letting him have that point. If he thinks he’s got her, it just inches her one step closer to her goal. </p><p>"Nah," Rio says, shaking his head slow and deliberate. <em>"I </em>ain't forgettin' 'bout him."</p><p>He pauses, and Beth can practically see the gears turning in his head as he deliberates.</p><p>"Not when he's got his grubby ass fingers all over my...money."</p><p>Beth's heart skips a beat, and her breathing goes shallow. The way he says it, the way he's looking at her, it's like—it's almost like he—</p><p>"So, what do you want?" </p><p>The words come out far too breathless, and she tells herself she meant to say it like that. It's a lure, a hook—nothing more.</p><p>It's definitely not that she—that he—</p><p>"What'll it take to go another round?" Beth asks, firmer, pretending to ignore the way his smile's gone hot and filthy.</p><p>Pretending to ignore how much she likes it.</p><p>Rio hums, tipping his head to the side. "Not sure you got anythin' I want."</p><p>"There has to be something," Beth pushes, and if she puts a little extra emphasis into <em>something, </em>it's only because she's trying to maneuver him into her trap.</p><p>There's a long pause, and Rio gives her another long, slow once-over like he had when they negotiated their terms in the first place. The difference is this time, Beth's pulse is already thrumming, her nerves strung tight, and at his look, something breaks open—heat doesn't so much pool as burst through her, igniting her everywhere all at once. She tries her best to ignore it, but she knows she flushes high and hot, can feel the tingle of it spreading across her cheeks, up her chest. She knows he sees it because his eyes go even darker, his smile a touch wider. </p><p>Scrambling to turn it to her advantage, Beth lets her eyes flutter shut, letting him see her helpless embarrassment, grateful that's all he <em>can</em> see. That he doesn't know how her thighs are clenched and her panties are damp.</p><p>Not for sure, anyway.</p><p>Holding her breath, Beth waits for his verdict. If she's entirely, almost painfully honest, she no longer knows what she wants more: for Rio to bite, to name what he wants and put it all out there or for him to back off and leave the game they're playing—the game they've both <em>been </em>playing, she'll admit in the privacy of her own head—unspoken.</p><p>"Get rid of your husband."</p><p>Beth's eyes fly open, her heart skipping a beat. That's—she didn't—he can't possibly—</p><p>Rio runs his tongue along his teeth, satisfaction brightening his eyes. "I want him out of my business—"</p><p><em>"My </em>business," Beth interrupts on autopilot, still reeling.</p><p>He smirks. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Point is, I don't want that dumb fuck anywhere near my money."</p><p>"I—" Beth stutters and stops as his intent becomes clear, shattering every remaining thought in her head into kaleidoscoping fragments, skipping away just out of her reach. </p><p>Rio can't just—that's not—that's <em>big. </em>That's the kind of stake that has the potential—no, the <em>certainty—</em>to implode her whole <em>family.</em> Even if she and Dean could withstand her firing him...if he can't get over something as trivial as a <em>dress, </em>there's no way he'd ever get past finding out the why—the <em>who—</em>behind that decision.</p><p>Beth bites her lip, studying the table. She knows she's good, but is she <em>that</em> good?</p><p>
  <em>Never play for stakes you can't afford to lose. Doesn't matter how good you think you are, Lizzie; you never know when you're gonna come up against someone better.</em>
</p><p>And that's the question, isn't it? Can she afford to lose?</p><p>"Think it through, Elizabeth."</p><p>Beth's eyes fly back to Rio, and he's watching her, dark and serious like he knows exactly what's running through her head. </p><p>"How bad you want it?"</p><p>Beth swallows. Licks her dry, dry lips.</p><p>Nods.</p><p>She sees Rio's chest expand as he inhales deep.</p><p>"You sure 'bout that?" he asks. "You know I'll collect."</p><p>Beth doesn't know if it's the fact that he's giving her an out, an opportunity to retreat, to go back to pretending none of this is happening, but the unexpected kindness has the opposite effect than she assumes is intended. Her spine snaps straight, and she rolls her shoulders back, shaking her hair out of her face and tipping her chin up. Her thoughts settle like a switch has been flipped, the world clicking into an almost painful, crystalline focus.</p><p>This is it.</p><p>Beth nods again, short and sharp this time, ready to make her move, but when she goes to grab the rack, Rio stops her with a hand over hers. His palm is warm, his skin rough, scratching lightly at hers as he drags his thumb across the delicate skin on the underside of her wrist. Beth wonders what he makes of her thundering pulse.</p><p>Hell, she wonders what <em>she </em>makes of it.</p><p>"I'll rack."</p><p>Beth frowns. "You won."</p><p>"Figure you might need a minute to collect yourself."</p><p>The way he grins—fierce and electric—and the way it makes her clench, something deep inside her going molten, has her baring her teeth at him, her temper spiking when he only laughs.</p><p>"Got a lot riding on this mami," he says. "Wouldn't want you to blow it."</p><p>"Fine," she snarls. "Rack, then."</p><p>He'll regret it. Beth will <em>make </em>him regret it.</p><p>She hates that he's right though, hates that she <em>does </em>need the time it takes him to set up the table to even her breathing, to control the tremble in her fingers. </p><p>To completely fail at settling the frustrating, <em>infuriating, </em>honey-sweet heat rolling and pulsing in time to her heart, spreading further with every beat, stubbornly refusing to dissipate.</p><p>That doesn't matter, though. It isn't anything she doesn't have plenty of practice ignoring. </p><p>By the time he's done, she's ready.</p><p>Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.</p><p>It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table. </p><p>Every stripe remains in play.</p><p>"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over. </p><p>But after she lines up and neatly sinks the two ball with a combination shot that leaves the seven parked right in front of the remaining left side pocket, she can't help the way her attention snags when she sees him reach down and adjust himself. </p><p>Can't stop the way she clenches in response.</p><p>Shaking it off, Beth comes around to Rio's side of the table. She has a couple of options, and she chooses a shot far enough away that she'll see if he starts to come towards her, if he tries to continue their little game within the game. She bends over, pausing and pretending to adjust her grip for a better bridge. When he still doesn't move, she draws the stick back, smooth and steady.</p><p>"You look good when you're winning."</p><p>His voice rolls over her, as rich and lush as velvet. It takes her back to that night at Boland Motors, the office dark and the desk stretched between them, her thighs clenched together so tight she'd given herself a cramp, her nails dug so deep into the armrests of her chair one of them had broken through the vinyl.</p><p>Her shot goes wide.</p><p>Setting her jaw, Beth stands, grabbing the chalk, not looking at him as he studies the table she's left him.</p><p>It's terrible, and that's the only reason her temper's held at bay. He may have broken her focus, but it's only slowed her down, not given him any kind of advantage. </p><p>Still, credit where credit's due, Rio manages to sink two tricky shots before he really is left with nothing. Cursing softly under his breath, he sends a gentle draw shot into the four Beth left blocking the left side pocket, clearing it, and sending the cue ball rolling back towards him. When it comes to a rest, scant inches from the end rail, he smiles thinly.</p><p>It's a good effort, she'll give him that. But she's got four balls left on the table, and two of them are perfectly positioned to drop into their respective pockets with no effort at all. </p><p>Beth considers the table, nibbling her lip as she studies her angles. </p><p>The smart thing to do would be pocketing each ball one at a time. Simple, straightforward, nothing fancy.</p><p>"'S'okay ma, I ain't gonna hold it against you if you take the easy out."</p><p>Beth's head shoots up. Rio's lounging against the ledge, his cue held loosely in one hand, base planted in the ground between his legs. When he sees he's got her attention, he wiggles it, drawing her eye down, and she can see the long, hard length of him outlined through his black jeans. </p><p>She rolls her eyes, making her decision on the spot. </p><p>Smirking a little, Beth skirts around the corner, putting an extra swing in her hips as she prowls towards him. She stops, leaving a foot of space between them and drags her gaze over him from head to toe, slow and deliberate, lingering on his crotch for a long, loaded beat before meeting his eyes.</p><p>"Seems like I'm not the one going for the cheap shot."</p><p>Spinning on her toes, Beth faces the table. When she takes her stance, she does so with an exaggerated arch of her back and wiggle of her hips. Concentrating, she lines up a combo bank that—if she's really, really good and maybe more than a little lucky—will bounce the cue ball off the cushion at the far end of the table and send it back into the three and four, shooting them into the corner pocket to her right. It'd be a risky enough shot under normal circumstances, but it's made nearly impossible with the way the cue ball's almost kissing the rail.</p><p>Her dad always did say that her greatest weakness was her unstoppable urge to show off.</p><p>Before she can take her shot, she hears Rio move, and then he's behind her, his hands on her hips, fingers digging in , and she feels herself <em>drip </em>before he even grinds himself against her ass. Her hips buck, instinctively seeking friction, and when he drapes himself over her, his arms caging her in, his weight pressing her into the table, her breath stutters. </p><p>He noses through her hair, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You have no idea how bad I wanna spread you out across the table, Elizabeth."</p><p>Rio punctuates the sentiment by pressing himself against her <em>hard. </em>So hard that she sways forward, the edge of the table digging into her thighs, but she holds her ground, rolling her hips and pushing back. Beth hears a faint whimper, barely audible above the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, but it isn't until he laughs softly, his breath gusting warm across her cheek, that she realizes it came from her.</p><p>Beth bites down on her lip until the taste of copper blooms on her tongue, and she uses it as an anchor, keeping herself perfectly still until he pulls back. Just a little. Just enough that he can get a look at her face. </p><p>Just enough that she has room to pull the stick back, angling the butt end high, to take her shot.</p><p>She hears Rio's sharp inhale as the cue ball connects, feels his chest expand against her back, and she holds her breath right along with him as they watch the cue bank. Beth's pulse jumps when it cracks sharply against the three, and immediately after, the four, both balls speeding towards the corner.</p><p>The three drops neatly into the pocket, the four bouncing gently off the mouth and rolling to a stop a few inches away.</p><p>Huffing out her breath, Beth stands, pushing Rio away. He backs off immediately, not protesting until she moves around the table and starts to bend over, sighting down her stick past the cue ball to the four.</p><p>"What you think you're doing?" he asks, stilling her with a heavy hand on her forearm.</p><p>"Winning," she says, without taking her eyes off her shot.</p><p>He laughs. "Nah, ma, you cheatin'."</p><p>Now she looks at him, whipping upright and yanking her arm out of his grip. "I most certainly am <em>not." </em></p><p>"What you doin' takin’ my shot then?"</p><p><em>"Your </em>shot?" Beth gestures towards the pocket she just sank the three into. </p><p><em>"You </em>scratched," Rio retorts, jerking the tip of his cue towards the four. </p><p>"Shot and sank the lower number, <em>not </em>a scratch." </p><p>Rio throws back his head and laughs. "What rules you playin' by? You set up a combo, you make the combo, or you scratch."</p><p>"That's <em>bullshit," </em>Beth argues, taking a step towards him.</p><p>She's incensed; she barely notices how close she is until her breasts brush against his chest, the soft contact sending a cascade of sparks down her spine. Rio's gaze drops, zeroing in on the deep V of her dress. His lips part and she can see his tongue tucked behind his teeth. When his eyes jump back to hers, she can see his pupils are blown wide. </p><p>She doubts hers are any better.</p><p>Then he snaps back into focus, his gaze no less heated but somehow sharper. Intent.</p><p>"'S okay, darlin’," he purrs. "You think you need the <em>assist, </em>I ain't gonna take it from you."</p><p>Beth steps back, her heels clicking crisply on the floor.</p><p>Her temper may spike, but it's undermined by the way her knees nearly give out at the wolfish grin he levels in response to her retreat.</p><p>Fuming, she waits until he chooses his shot before skirting around the table, positioning herself directly in his line of sight and leaning her stick against the ledge.</p><p>"Ain't gonna work twice, mami," Rio says, taking aim.</p><p>In response, Beth reaches up under the hem of her dress, hooks her thumbs in the band of her panties, and wiggles them off. Not saying anything, she sets them on the rail right next to the pocket he's aiming for, the light over the table illuminating the damp spot on the crotch. </p><p>It glistens.</p><p>For a long moment, neither of them move. A slow, steady bass beat pulses, growing louder then fading away as a car drives past the bar.</p><p>Even hidden in the shadows of his body, Beth can see the bird at Rio's throat ripple as he swallows.</p><p>He draws back and takes his shot. </p><p>The eleven ball bounces sharply off of the rail, barely an inch from where Beth's left her panties.</p><p>This time, her smile is every bit as lupine as the one he'd leveled at her moments ago. When she collects her cue, she drops her mask entirely, nearly snarling at the pure, concentrated satisfaction—the thrill every bit as intoxicating as the lust boiling in her veins.</p><p>This time, the swing of her hips as she comes round the table and takes her stance is less about playing with Rio and more because she can practically see her thirty percent in the four solids left on the table. Three shots to sink and then the eight ball. Easy peasy.</p><p>This time, when he comes up behind her, she's ready for him, and she laughs out loud, savage and mean, as he leans in close while she lines up.</p><p>She doesn't let herself so much as shiver as he slides a hand up her thigh, even as the rough scrape of his calloused skin is like flint on steel.</p><p>She doesn't let herself lose focus, keeping her bridge arm loose and cue arm steady as he palms her ass, fingers spanning all the way to the crease between her ass and cunt, right as she pulls back to take her shot.</p><p>Rio slips two fingers inside her right as she lets go and the stick goes wild, barely glancing off the cue ball and sending it wobbling a few inches to the left.</p><p>Beth feels the pressure echoing through her whole body, crackling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She's so wet he slides all the way in, not stopping until she can feel the knuckle of his ring finger against her folds and the cool metal of his thumb ring brush along her clit. </p><p>He crooks his fingers, and she gasps, fireworks going off in the darkness—and when had she closed her eyes?</p><p>Beth grabs him, her cue falling to the table, her nails digging into the bare skin of his forearm, and she can feel the muscles shift under her fingers as he flexes. </p><p>Rio strokes her once, twice, three times, and the sweet ache as he spreads his fingers, stretching her the exact right amount, makes her pant. When he pulls back and adds a third finger, the low, ragged moan she lets loose is more animal than anything else.</p><p>She hears the metallic jingle of his belt unbuckling, and when he slides his fingers nearly all the way out, she pushes off the table, spinning around and knocking his hand away. Before he has a chance to react, she's sliding her hand into his partially undone jeans, shoving the zipper down with her wrist as she goes. His groan is guttural and rough when she cups him through his boxer briefs, pressing against his cock with the flat of her palm and running her hand down to the tip of it. </p><p>Her mouth goes dry at the size of it, thick and hard and hot under her hand.</p><p>Beth gives him another stroke, this time curling her fingers as much as she can with the limited range of motion available. She figures if she can get him half as distracted as she is, he'll scratch immediately, and she can win the game, her own scratch barely a blip on the radar.</p><p>Except now he's wrapping his hands around her thighs, crumpling her dress and shoving it up as he lifts her onto the pool table, grunting a little. </p><p>The heat banks slightly. She doesn't remember that from when they'd—from the bathroom.</p><p>But then he's spreading her legs, slotting himself between them, and she's rocking against him, the cold teeth of his zipper a sharp shock against her bare skin, and she forgets everything else.</p><p>She hears a clatter as his cue tips and falls to the ground. Then he's leaning into her, burying his face in her neck, and she thinks she feels him breathe in like he's smelling her and thinks maybe it should be weird, but it isn't—it's perfect, and for just a second, she clings to him, pressing her face into his shoulder, letting herself do the same.</p><p>Rio pulls back but not far enough that his body heat isn't still warming her. His hands drop to the tie of her dress, yanking at it, uncharacteristically clumsy and hissing in frustration when he unknots it and sees how it's threaded through the back. Giving up, he grabs the neckline, pulling it down until her lace-clad breasts are all the way out. He buries his face in the crease of them, and Beth grabs the back of his head, holding him to her. His shorn hair bristles under her fingertips as she digs her nails in, feeling only a faint echo of the burn from his beard as he drags his lips down, finding one of her nipples and biting down on it through her bra. </p><p>Beth arches, pressing her cunt against him, crying out as the zipper drags across her, and she sparks and ignites with the jagged thrill of it. </p><p>Then Rio's pushing her down onto the table, and Beth’s lifting her legs, hooking her heels around the backs of his thighs to pull him to her. He laughs a little, more of a ragged gasp than anything funny, holding himself back to shove his jeans down. </p><p>Beth pushes herself up, balancing her weight on the heels of her hands, her breath going shallow when Rio pulls his cock free, fisting his hand around it. And, <em>God, </em>it's not that she'd forgotten—if anything, she's returned to the memory so often it's probably carved so deep into the folds and synapses of her brain that she'll remember him long after almost everything else is gone—but seeing him again, seeing that he isn't dwarfed by his unreasonably big hands seers itself across her mind fresh and raw. She can feel the heat leaking out of her, smearing across the tops of her thighs as she wiggles, trying to get closer.</p><p>Her arm slips, and she goes down on one elbow, distantly noting the remaining balls scattering—she has just enough presence of mind to think she <em>won </em>before Rio's lining up and pushing into her.</p><p>From the moment he hauled her up onto the table, it felt like time had sped up, need and sensation pulsing, pounding to the beat of her hummingbird heart, the relentless <em>more, more, more, more </em>making her head spin, stripping all thought and leaving only feeling. </p><p>But now, as he slides into her, hard and fast until he bottoms out, it's like time stops.</p><p>And—</p><p><em>Oh, </em>Beth thinks. </p><p><em>It's </em>you.</p><p>She doesn't know what Rio's thinking, never does—not really. Whenever she thinks she's figured him out, it's like he goes out of his way to pull the rug out from under her to keep her guessing, never entirely sure of her footing. But this, right now, in this moment, the way he's looking at her—his eyes dark and bottomless and locked on hers—she thinks maybe, <em>maybe, </em>it's the same for him.</p><p>As soon as she thinks it, it's too much. Panic bursts to life inside her, clawing its way up her throat. She tears her eyes away from his, focusing on his shoulder, on the wall beyond it, and the framed photo she'd once shattered with a pool ball. Something she doesn't know how to name feels misshapen and strange in the torn places the panic left behind.</p><p>And maybe that's the same for him, too, because as soon as she breaks the gaze, he drops his head. She doesn't have to look at him to know he's looking at her breasts again—and maybe she does know how to read him in some small ways because she knows <em>that </em>at least is probably the most consistent thing about him. </p><p>Then he's sliding a hand under her thigh, the other braced on the table next to her, and he hikes her leg up higher, making her gasp when it changes the angle of him inside her before he pulls out almost all the way and slams back home. </p><p>Beth gasps, her hands flailing. Her fingers scrabble against the felt looking for something, anything, to steady her. She grasps hold of his arm where he’s holding up her leg, pressing her nails into his skin for purchase.</p><p>Rio fucks her fast and hard and furious, making her head bounce and her teeth click together. The burn and stretch of him is good, so good, <em>too </em>good. Every stroke feels like he's going further, deeper, until he's so deep it's like he's taking root in the heart of her, planting himself in every cell of her body. </p><p><em>God, </em>Beth's <em>missed </em>this, except how could she when it's something she's barely even known? How is it possible a man she's only had twice can feel as familiar to her as her own skin?</p><p>Shoving the thought away, Beth releases Rio’s arm, struggling to push herself up to sitting. He lets go of her leg, placing his hand on the small of her back, lifting her up and holding her steady, all without breaking rhythm. Once she's up, she doesn't know what to do with her hands—because he's got her, and she knows she can rely on his strength if nothing else, and let go if that's what she wants—so she grabs his shoulders, fisting her fingers in his shirt. But then she thinks she's stretching it out, misshaping the crisp cotton, that she might rip it, so she wraps her arms around his neck instead. </p><p>She pulls herself closer, crying out, and the hoarse, raw sound echoes around them as he fucks into her, hitting that one spot that makes her see sparks and her toes curl—the one she didn't even know she <em>had </em>before he found it that first time—again, and again, and again, and again.</p><p>Beth's clinging to him, hanging on and pulling herself closer with every thrust until she realizes their faces are so close together she can feel the warm gust of his panting breath against her temple, her cheek, her jaw. They're close enough that all she'd have to do is turn her head less than an inch, and they'd be kissing, and when she does, he's waiting for her, and then they are.</p><p>If she thought she'd missed him before, it's nothing compared to now with the taste of him on her tongue, the sound of him in her throat, the feel of his hand on her back, the press of his chest against hers. The heat of him is all the way inside her, burning brightly in her center like a tiny star. It's growing brighter, higher, hotter until it's the only thing that exists, and she feels herself start to flutter, on the cusp of coming when she hasn’t so much as even touched her clit, which is insane and something she didn’t even know was possible until he—he—<em>he—</em></p><p>It bursts, the star inside her and everything goes white, static shock erasing everything in the world until it’s only her and him and them.</p><p>Beth comes back to herself in pieces, each sense coming online one at a time, and it takes her a minute to realize Rio'd come right along with her.</p><p>But he's still kissing her. </p><p>And it's deep and rich and wet, and he tastes so good that Beth can hardly believe it, and she doesn't want to stop either, so she doesn't.</p><p>But eventually, the fog clears enough that it's impossible for Beth <em>not </em>to think about what they're doing, and she pulls back, realizing as she does that he pulled away at the same time.</p><p>The silence is back, but now it feels oppressive, and Beth clears her throat, shifting her weight a little. Rio steps back, and Beth flushes as he slips out of her. She looks down and away, pulling her dress up over her bra. He steps back, tucking himself back into his jeans, and Beth hops down, staggering a little when she lands on bare feet. Her shoes must've fallen off at some point; she didn't even notice.</p><p>Still not looking at Rio, Beth tugs her dress shut, retying it in a sloppy bow and smoothing it down. She toes on her shoes and smooths down her hair, then fluffs it, tucking it behind her ears. </p><p>Between her legs, she throbs and aches in the best way, and she's—</p><p>Blushing bright, Beth turns away from Rio and snatches a few napkins out of one of the dispensers on the table ledge. With quick, efficient motions, she reaches beneath her dress and wipes herself off. She surreptitiously looks around while she does, but she can't see a trash can, and she's too—she's not—she can't ask. </p><p><em>God, </em>why is it so <em>quiet </em>in here? </p><p>Every tiny sound is overwhelming. Outside, someone—no, a few someones walk past the bar, the excited spikes of their  chattering voices distinct but too muffled to make out what they're saying. Inside, the floorboards creak as she rocks back on her heels, then forward. Behind her, she hears a soft thud, the rustle of fabric, and the rasp of a zipper. </p><p>Beth crumples up the sodden napkins into a tight little ball and shoves them in her purse before hooking it over her shoulder and fiddling with the strap. </p><p>When she's out of things to fidget with, Beth steels herself to turn around. She doesn't know what to expect from Rio; it's been so different every time they—both times they—</p><p>She remembers the way he'd looked at her. The way she'd looked at <em>him. </em></p><p>She doesn't know what she <em>wants </em>from Rio.</p><p>But it turns out it doesn't matter because he isn't paying any attention to her at all. He's pulled the duffle back out and is counting out packets of cash, making a small, neat pile on the table.</p><p>Beth clears her throat softly, then again with more force, something inside her sinking when he continues counting like she isn't even there.</p><p>"Is that my cut?" she asks, slightly too loud.</p><p>Rio glances over, a single arched eyebrow conveying how obvious he feels the answer to her question should be.</p><p>Tipping her chin up, Beth marches over, dropping her purse on the table with a thump and stuffing the stacks of cash inside.</p><p>After the last stack's tucked away, she shoves her purse back up on her shoulder and steps back, smoothing the strap back down on her shoulder while Rio counts the rest of the cash in the duffle. She should leave, she knows. She doesn't know why she hasn’t.</p><p>Finally, Rio finishes, carefully zipping the bag back up and looks over her, raising both eyebrows this time like he's surprised she's still there.</p><p>"What you waitin' on, ma?"</p><p>Beth's jaw tightens. "Thirty percent then, right?"</p><p>Rio's face twists, amusement and derision vying for dominance. "How you figure?"</p><p>"I won," Beth says, flat. She sees what he's doing, and she's not letting him get to her. </p><p>"You scratched."</p><p>"I was kicking your <em>ass," </em>she hisses, stepping forward and poking him in the chest. "And you <em>know </em>it."</p><p>Rio grins wide, something heavy and sweet like syrup in the curve of it. "Didn't finish the game though, did you?"</p><p><em>"You </em>interrupted because <em>you </em>knew <em>you </em>were losing." On each you, she pokes him again for emphasis until he grabs her wrist, holding it still.</p><p>"Doesn't feel like I lost," he purrs with a leer that has her honest to God seeing red for a second.</p><p>Beth yanks her hand out of his grip with a strangled, frustrated noise. </p><p>"Let me clear up any confusion," she snarls, baring her teeth. "We can play as many times as you want. I'll win <em>every time." </em></p><p>Something stirs in Rio's eyes, warming them. "You wanna go again, then?"</p><p>Even through the haze of her anger, something in Beth blooms in response, and she nearly shrieks, outrage and indignation spiking. It's not <em>fair—how </em>can—she just—<em>no. </em></p><p>Beth steps back, putting some distance between them. Rio's smile dims, and if she has any reaction to that at all, she doesn't let herself feel it. </p><p>"So what's this then," she asks, gesturing to her purse and the cash inside, immediately cursing herself when he brightens at whatever opportunity she's just handed him.</p><p>She isn't going to like it; she can tell because this time, the smile he aims at her is full of knives and sharp edges, honed and ready to draw blood.</p><p>"Think of it like a one-time bonus," Rio says.</p><p>Then he looks her up and down, slow and heavy. His eyes linger on the V of her dress, then the tie of the wrap where the loops of her hasty bow hang low in the center instead of off to the side like they should. He lingers like he can see through the material to where she feels the remains of what they just did drying on her skin. </p><p>He licks his lips.</p><p>"Because you did so <em>good </em>today."</p><p>It's incandescent, the supernova of white-hot fury that erupts within her. It doesn't matter that she knows—well, she's pretty sure he's only saying it to piss her off because he was losing, and he knows it. The thought that he's <em>paying </em>her, like some kind of—like she's—</p><p>Beth turns on her heel and storms out of the room. Not so much as slowing when she hears his soft laugh follow her through the main bar.</p><p>"’Ey," he calls after her as she rips open the front door. "How 'bout next time we try poker, yeah?"</p><p>It helps a little, the <em>next time</em>, and a part of Beth hates that it helps. Hates that anything he says or does has the power to make her feel any way at all. </p><p>But still, it helps the rage fog to clear even though Beth wishes it hadn't because now she recognizes the current of hurt underneath. </p><p>She shoves it all aside. Unproductive.</p><p>Only, once she's moved it—smothered it, buried it deep—what's left is the stacks of money on the pool table. </p><p>An echo back through time, all the way to a pile of money on her nightstand.</p><p>A sickly smear of guilt and a prickling awareness that maybe all of this is much more complicated than she's ever been able to admit, and once she starts following that thread, it's all—it’s too—she <em>can't.</em></p><p>Beth gropes for her fury, wrapping the dwindling remains of it around her like a shroud, and lets it power her down the street to where she parked her van.</p><p>It isn't until she drops down in the driver's seat and feels her dress stick against a tacky spot on the back of her thigh that she realizes she left her panties on the pool table.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Credits! Yes, this fic has an actual credit roll because I am nothing if not unreasonably extra.</p><p>First and foremost, <a href="https://nickmillerscaulk.tumblr.com/">nickmillerscaulk</a>, you beautiful, noble, unparalleled wordsmith of a land mermaid. Thank you once again for stepping in as beta, I am forever grateful that I have somehow tricked you into putting up with me. You are the best and your reactions give me life.</p><p><a href="https://foxmagpie.tumblr.com/">foxmagpie</a>, thanks for letting me live in your brain and helping me plot out this sucker and shrieking all caps nonsense at the most encouraging moments.</p><p><a href="https://septiembur.tumblr.com/">septiembur</a>, bless you for volunteering to help me with the Spanish. As you know (now, if you didn’t before, hahaha), I am full-on feral over Mick and Rio, and your insights and suggestions beautifully rounded out that detail.</p><p>Shout out to <a href="https://texasbama.tumblr.com/">texasbama</a> for the prompt, <a href="https://riosnecktattoo.tumblr.com/">riosnecktattoo</a> for supplying <a href="https://riosnecktattoo.tumblr.com/post/643503835552317440/mego42-this-but-beth">a v inspirational gif</a> she swears is from a commercial but i think might actually be from porn bc jfc, and <a href="https://bethsuglywigs.tumblr.com/">bethsuglywigs</a> for calling out Rio’s rings in her <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274738/chapters/66636553">iconic post break-up sex bathroom break fic</a> and ruining my life.</p><p>And finally, thank you to y’all for reading, I hope you enjoyed.</p><p>It takes a village for me to write a one shot, apparently, and I really really love the Good Girls one. 💖</p></blockquote></div></div>
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